From the author:

From the Author:

I will not introduce myself.
I will not ask "How do?"
I will not wave, I will not bow,
Or shake a hand with you.

For I am not polite, my friend;
I have no social grace.
Like you, I have no manners,
And I never learned my place.

Instead I'll write a poem
And I'll put myself in verse,
And if you like the sound of me,
Well, THEN we might converse.

So read a line or two of me,
Or don't, if it's a chore,
But since you've read fifteen of me
I bet you'll read one more.

Click here to contact the author
(...or don't...he doesn't really trust emails from children. They can be sticky).

Thursday, 13 December 2012

There are Zombies in the Schoolyard

There are zombies in the schoolyard;
There are zombies in the park.
There are zombies in the daylight;
There are zombies in the dark.

There are zombies in the boulevards
And zombies in the lanes.
The zombies limping through the school
Have eaten all the brains.

There are zombies in the barber shop
And zombies at the gym.
The butcher is a zombie now;
He's selling human limbs.

There are zombies in the shopping mall
And zombies in the road.
The zombies in the restaurants
Eat waiter a la mode.

There are zombies in the garden;
There are zombies on the lawn.
There are zombies in the houses,
And the neighbours are all gone.

There are zombies at the chimneys;
There are zombies climbing walls:
The zombie Mrs. Rosencrantz
Gets deader when she falls.

There are zombies in the basement;
There are zombies on the roof.
My sister is a zombie now;
She's still a smelly goof.

There are zombies in the attic
And underneath the floor.
My zombie-dad is growling,
But not about my chores!

There are zombies in the hallway,
And zombies at my door.
I don't think I'll be writing
About zombies anymore...

Saturday, 13 October 2012

Writing Lines

If I could make my teacher take detention and do lines,
I’d make her copy out these words one hundred thousand times:
“I will not give detention and I will not lose my cool;
I will not make you write out lines for hours after school.

And when she's finished writing this one hundred thousand times,
She'll learn that kids don’t learn a thing from writing all these lines.

Monday, 19 March 2012

The Gurgler

My mother says, “Beware! Beware!
For surely there’s an angry bear!”
My brother says the wolves will growl
When they’re too close to howl.
But there’s no creature in the wood
Who scares me like the Gurgler could.
My father says, “There’s no such beast!”
And isn’t frightened in the least.
He strides right down the slippery rocks
And climbs up on the Gurgler’s dock
And hangs his big and meaty feet
To let the greedy Gurgler eat.
He’s lucky he ain’t lost ‘em! Well,
I’m sure it’s cause they REALLY SMELL!
I bet by now you know this creep
Who wallows in the water’s deep,
Who when the water level’s right
Slithers in the dark of night
To hide beneath your cottage dock
And gurgle round the slimy rocks.
I’m sure you’ve waded in the lake
And felt his twiggy fingers take
A pinch of your big toe to feel
If there’s enough to make a meal.
Or maybe as you’ve pulled and strained
To clamber on the dock again,
You’ve missed your step and swung beneath
And kicked you legs in dreadful grief
And felt the clammy, muddy gunk
That settles on the Gurgler’s trunk.
I’m told there is but one sure way
To make the Gurgler go away:
You have to find that one bright place
That glimmers back the sun’s bright face
Upon the glassy rippling lake,
And in an orange bucket take
Pail-fulls of the shining stuff.
And when you think you have enough,
Quickly, quickly take it back
And pour it down the narrow cracks
Between the boards upon the dock.
In seconds it’ll start to rock
And splash about the lake until
You feel like you’re about to spill.
Then all will quickly fall quite still,
And you will know that you have killed
The Gurgler 'neath the dock.